


More Than Meets the Eye

by TheCreatorOfTales



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baddass wife alert, Daughters, F/F, Fluff, Fluffy, It's Australia, Mentions of self-harm, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Soft!Joan, Swearing, Vera is just sick of Fletcher, Will Jackson has an epiphany, little bit of violence, mentions of beating, mentions of fire, of course there's swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26595142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCreatorOfTales/pseuds/TheCreatorOfTales
Summary: Wentworth is in flames. The Governor's wife and children rush to the scene to check that she's alright, shocking the entire prison population and the officers.Complete Canon Divergence - Joan didn't start the fire.
Relationships: Joan Ferguson/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

Joan could only stare.

The blaze was growing as it spread, and as Vera stood beside her, hands over her mouth, Joan sighed heavily.

_FUCK._

At least everyone was outside. She’d been on the phone in her office when the fire alarm had started screaming, and as she tore through the prison, meeting Vera halfway down the main stairs, she kept trying to figure out how the damn thing had started. This was Australia, the near constant threat of bushfires meant everyone was hyper aware of anything that might suddenly become a blaze. Officers had rushed around like panicked ants, shoving inmates out into the fresh air as they all listened and followed orders (for once) and Joan and Vera conducted a last sweep as more smoke filled the air.

Which led them to the kitchen stockroom. When Jess Warner had appeared from around a corner, clutching baby Joshua in his blanket, with a wet face and refusing to hand the baby over, Joan had lost her temper. She had noticed the back of the stockroom on fire, and assumed that Warner had started it in her mania. Quickly advancing on the inmate, Vera had followed closely behind.

“You kidnap a baby and then start a fire in MY prison?!” She’d shouted, quickly reaching for the baby and wrenching the prisoner’s hold from the blanket. Warner had been wailing incoherently about wanting her own, and how they couldn’t keep her as prisoner if there wasn’t a prison. Joan had quickly held the baby close, checking for any injury, however the newborn was sleeping soundly despite all the noise. Vera had restrained the inmate, locking the handcuffs perhaps a tad too tightly on Warner’s wrists, but in this instance, Joan didn’t particularly care.

Between them, they’d managed to drag the young woman from the stockroom to the door, which they’d yanked open despite the metal being bloody hot and causing redness to appear on both the governor’s and deputy’s hands. The one time that Joan had left her gloves in her office, and they could have been useful in this situation. They’d fallen out into the fresh air, coughing and spluttering as they pulled Warner along with them, making their way to where everyone had convened.

Vera had pulled Warner to Mr Jackson, and Joan had immediately gone to the nearest ambulance to locate Anderson. Climbing in, she’d handed the boy over to his mother with a gentle smile, and she’d grabbed her hand and squeezed it in gratitude.

“I know I appear heartless, Doreen, but the same thing happened when my youngest was born.” She’d spoken lowly, and Doreen had looked at her in shock. Joan Ferguson was a parent? To more than one kid? The aboriginal woman thanked the Governor over and over, who smiled again, and patted her hand. “You keep him close until you feel better, alright?”

Nodding, the woman cuddled her son, mind whirring about how wrong they’d all thought of Joan Ferguson. Vera appeared at the doorway of the ambulance and Joan stepped down to meet her. Together they walked to where they both now stood, staring in disbelief that Warner had managed to cause such a catastrophe. They should have seen that she wasn’t right, that a mental illness was manifesting itself in the younger woman. They should seen _something!_

Most of the officers walked over to where they were standing and didn’t say anything. Both Vera and Joan looked dishevelled, hair half falling out of its confines, uniform sooty and reeking of smoke and they looked exhausted. People were everywhere, and all Joan wanted was her bed, and her deputy didn’t look much better. The officers spoke amongst themselves, trying to figure out if they could have seen any signs in Warner, when Fletcher decided it was time to make a point of trying to bring down the Governor.

“I reckon she started it!” he pointed at the older woman.

Everyone turned to him in disbelief. Even Will Jackson, who didn’t particularly like Joan, but he respected what she was trying to do, even if he disagreed with her methods, had a look of utter confusion.

“I reckon that you’re drunk again, Mr Fletcher.” The Governor’s eyes were cold, glaring at the man who she really should have just sacked when she first started. The man had been a thorn in her side, and she’d had enough of him. “If you think I started it, why don’t you ask your deputy, who’s just helped me get the woman responsible out of the building, what she thinks?!” As the argument built, they failed to notice the heavy duty police car come screeching into the car park, blue and red lights on, with the sirens blaring. They also failed to notice the woman in Kevlar and a police uniform get out of the drivers seat, along with three younger girls, and a small little girl with blonde pigtails from the back and the passenger seat. They looked at the building in horror and searched the faces in the crowd of teal and officer uniforms, all sighing in relief as they caught sight of Joan.

“MUM!” all four screamed, causing everyone to turn and watch as they sprinted, the six year old girl in unicorn pyjamas and fluffy slippers reaching the Governor first as the older woman crouched to catch her and lift her into her arms, hugging her tightly. The officers were all shocked to watch this display, seeing the young girl clutch to Joan whilst gripping a doll in one hand and the lapel of Joan’s jacket in the other. It wasn’t long before the other three girls, all of various ages, all in pyjamas and slippers, slammed into her, all reaching around and hugging their mother, talking over one another and kissing her cheeks. Groups of inmates watched the scene, Bea Smith felt a particular pang in her stomach as she was reminded of her daughter, Debbie. She didn’t expect to miss her whilst watching a building burn, but she recognised the look of maternal adoration on Joan’s face as the girls had all convened on her, and thought that maybe the prisoners had all only seen of Joan, what they wanted to see. A similar though was trickling through the crowds of inmates, all watching as the usually cold and stern Governor hold her family to her as if she thought they would disappear.

“MUM?!” Fletcher had shouted in shock, whilst Linda and Will had watched, not quite sure what to say. They’d never expected the woman to have a life outside the prison, in the same way that schoolchildren didn’t think that teachers had a life outside of a classroom. But the fact that she had four daughters, all grasping at her in relief, the two eldest in tears, whilst the second youngest noticed Vera and detangled herself to hug the woman.

“Aunty Vera!”

The deputy had happily hugged the twelve year old, holding her close as she hugged her. She spoke in a reassuring tone, letting the girl see that she was alright, and told her yes they would still be going to the aquarium on Saturday for her to see what she wanted to do her school project on. She also noticed that the girl was wearing the shark slippers that Vera had bought her for her birthday last month.

“Vera, what the fuck? You honestly can’t be believing this, hey?” Fletch apparently was blind. The man had been an annoyance before she had a fling with him, if it could even be called that, and had only gotten worse the longer he was at Wentworth. He’d turned up for work, more than once, absolutely reeking of alcohol. Joan had caught him more than once taking his mood out on the inmates when the alcohol began to wear off and despite the Governor stopping this behaviour to prevent any incident or injury to the prisoners, all Fletch could see was the Joan was pushing her authority on him. Authority that he felt should be his.

“You watch your language around my niece, Mr Fletcher.” She covered the girl’s ears, noticing in the corner of her eye that the policewoman had reached Joan and was running her hands over her face and shoulders, checking that she was mostly unharmed. Mr Fletcher also noticed this but didn’t quite know what to say about it. By now everyone’s attention was on the Governor, and the police woman, who was well built, blonde and as tall as Joan, pulled her into an embrace, hugging her and letting the black haired woman relax into her arms, burying her head into her shoulder.

The inmates thought that they were hallucinating.

Some of the officers thought the same thing.

Vera meandered over, the girl following closely, holding her hand. The two older girls noticed and came closer to give hugs and check that she was alright, unable to believe that there was an actual fire at the prison. All three girls then retreated to their mothers as Will Jackson and Fletcher came towards them. Joan’s arms encircled all four girls in instinct, holding them as well as she could with the youngest still gripping onto her like a koala bear, and the blonde policewoman then threw her arms around them, Joan included. A wedding ring shined on her hand as the crowd noticed. Married then, they thought. Who would have guessed Ferguson had a wife and kids? Most felt that they had misunderstood the woman, and not particularly liking how that feeling sat in them.

Since Joan had started at Wentworth, there had never been any hint of such a family life. There were no photos in her office, no children’s drawings. She didn’t even wear a wedding ring. Of course, they didn’t know that she wore a necklace with the ring on it under her shirt. She was cold, manipulative, and got things done in work. She was bossy, expected her orders to be followed and hated disorder. Will watched as the same woman clutched at her girls, checking each one over as if they were the ones who had been hurt rather than the other way around. Will wondered how she could have such a distinction between her home life and her work. Vera looked up at him, noticing how the cogs were working in his brain.

“Back at Bahnhurst, some inmates found out and threatened to get somebody to find and hurt all four girls. The youngest was only three at the time. Since then, she’s kept a distance between her work and her home life. It’s a way of keeping her family safe.” He looked down as Vera spoke, understanding why the Governor would do such a thing. He knew how dangerous this type of work could be, he’d seen and felt it first hand with Meg, after all. But to threaten to hurt a little girl of three years old? He looked over again at the family. The six year old was still in Joan’s arms, and had wrapped a small hand around a lock of her hair that had fallen from her bun, and was resting her head on her shoulder, worn out from the stress of the evening. He wasn’t blind, it was obvious that all four girls adored the Governor, seeing as all four were still stuck to her like limpets, unwilling to move from her embrace. The eldest two had stopped crying by now but were still looking around as they clung to Joan, apparently searching for anyone or anything that may try to take her away from them. He’d seen reactions in children like this before, back in his social worker days. He knew that it was a reflex that came after having a parent threatened. How often did these girls feel the need to watch their mother’s back? Hearing Vera explain why Joan kept a carefully constructed wall between her work life and her home, he understood more clearly than ever. And it wasn’t even the sight of four daughters running for their mother as if they were being chased by something. It was the sight of the youngest, with her Barbie doll being held by it’s feet as she snuggled into her mum. A picture of complete unassuming innocence. It struck a chord in the man.

“I get it.” He murmured, followed with a question asking if she was alright. She grinned at him, saying she was fine, and that Joan had inhaled more smoke than she had. Will was thoughtful for a moment, before appearing to make his mind up on something. He looked at her, glanced at Fletch next to him, who appeared to be having a brain-dead moment and walked towards the family unit. He hadn’t supported Ferguson properly since she’d been appointed Governor. It was time to do better and be better. He was a superior officer, and it was time he acted like it. Whatever had happened in the past was done, and it couldn’t be changed.

“Mum, he’s big.” The girl in Joan’s arms said sleepily as he came closer. He watched as his superior grinned in response and answered her daughter.

“Yes darling, he is. But it makes him very good in his job.” She kissed her daughter’s head after speaking, and the young girl settled back down with her head in the crook of her neck.

“Governor,” he said, with a tone of respect in his voice that Joan noticed. He’d never spoken to her in such a tone before. She looked at him, curiosity clear in her face, as did her wife and all four girls. There was a hard edge to the eldest two girls’ stares, he was clearly considered a person who was not to be trusted. How much had they picked up from their mothers? “There’s an empty ambo over there, and seeing as Vera said that you inhaled quite a lot of smoke, I’d feel better that you got checked out. Got to have our Governor on top form, right?”

“He’s right.” The blonde in kevlar agreed, “Soph, go with your mum to the ambo and make sure they check her out, you know what she’s like.” Nodding the oldest looking girl began to herd Joan backwards towards the ambulance with a paramedic outside it, ignoring any protest that she was alright. However, the other three girls went with her, deciding that it wasn’t their blonde mother who needed them right now. The youngest was still wrapped around the Governor, and the other two followed behind towards the ambulance, as the eldest led the way. Joan rolled her eyes but complied.

“I’m Clara Ferguson.” The blonde held out her hand after introducing herself, waiting for Will to shake it. He got a good look at her, noticing that she was wearing the uniform and body protection for an armed unit of the Melbourne Police. This woman was no joke if she worked for them. He remembered an old friend who worked in the same unit talking about the only woman on the team, and that she was a woman you wanted at your back if something went to shit. He assumed this was the same woman.

“Will Jackson.” He shook the offered hand, noticing the firm handshake.

“Not quite what you expected of Joan, then?”

“Nah, not at all, she’s so different with you.” He answered honestly, as the governor’s wife grinned and shook her head slightly. It was always funny to her, how well Joan could make people think that the prison was her whole life. The reality was, as soon as she left it’s doors, she morphed back into Joan, into Mum, into her Jo. Jo who loved to wear comfy leggings whilst she helped their daughters with school projects, or with rugby, or helped them fence. Who adored family cuddles in their bed, while watching a movie. These people really had no idea.

“Always the same. There is a sensible reason why she acts in such a way. It keeps us safe, she hasn’t exactly got the safest job, and neither do I, so we do what we can to keep our girls safe. Lord knows that Jen keeps us on our toes as it is.” She chuckled, shoving her hands into her pockets.

“Jen?”

“Jen is our youngest. Mischievous in the extreme, and known to cause a bit of drama and excitement. Second youngest is Marie, she’s the one with the shark slippers. Next is Emma, who’s our resident art person, and then the oldest is Sophie, who’s going into law in uni in the next semester.” She explained her family to the man, who tried to keep up. She didn’t hide the proud tone of voice, she was proud of her family. Extremely so. They both turned and watched as the six year old finally let go of Joan to let the paramedic look her over, but still clutched her hand, dragging the doll by the foot, it’s head dragging on the ground. “Poor Barbie.”

They both laughed.

“I know my wife comes across as intense. But she enjoys her work when it all goes to plan. Everything she does is so other people can help themselves to do better. Why else do you go into corrections except to help people improve themselves?” Clara watched the man’s reactions before launching into her speech again. The look on his face said that he had already realised his shortcomings in his job.

“All she’s tried to do is cut off the supply of drugs into this place, and from what I hear, all of you officers have been roadblocks to it. From turning up drunk for shifts, to giving information to inmates for money, to quite simply ignoring orders, this place has caused more stress in my wife than raising four girls from birth has done!” Her tone became steel. She knew these idiots didn’t like her Joan, and she knew that every single one of these useless officers were listening. Will felt stirrings of guilt in his stomach, thinking back to their first meeting of when she’d stopped support groups. At the time, as much as he’d hated to admit it, she had a point about the prisoners not needing a reminder about what they couldn’t have.

“Yeah well what about Kelly Bryant?” Fletch blurted out, angry that this blonde woman was taking charge. She spun, facing the obstinate man, and held her hands at her hips. She felt pity over Kelly Bryant, she really did, but when the woman shoved a sharpened pencil into the side of her own face and tried to blame Joan for it in a hallucinatory episode, when it was her wife that had held the bandage to her head to try to stop the bleeding, she lost patience. Bryant was a woman that needed help but wasn’t willing to accept it. She was also a person who blamed all of her own shortcomings on other people.

“Kelly Bryant was a known paranoid schizophrenic who suffered from severe auditory and visual hallucinations. She also had a considerable self-harm problem. The woman would stab herself with pencils and pens. If anybody had bothered to read her file, they would have known that. Bahnhurst Prison has a psychiatric unit, which is why she was sent back there, Mr Fletcher.” The man looked ready to argue, but the officer didn’t give him a chance. “Whatever story she spun for you, was likely a lie and you’ve been caught up in it. I’m sorry about that, but that is no reason to try and accuse my wife of things that she hasn’t done.” She noticed how a few unnamed officers behind the two men were shifting guiltily and looking at their feet. Fucking children. Looking around, she guessed that Mr Fletcher had told them the story that Bryant had told him, and had gleefully passed on the tale of Ferguson’s abuse of an inmate to his colleagues and they were now feeling uneasy about the fact that they had so readily believed the tale. Assholes.

“From what I’ve researched about YOU, Mr Fletcher, is that you are an alcoholic who can’t seem to keep his work life and home life separate. You were in the army, the way you stand tells me that, but you have a big problem with women in authority. Is it because you feel that you should have gotten the Governor’s job? Because Mr Channing told you that you would get it? Derek Channing is a pimp, you know. He sends parolees to a specific halfway house, which operates as an underground brothel, and after one week the women there are told that they either participate or they get thrown out, break their parole and get sent back to prison.”

The entire carpark was silent, except for the sound of the firemen barking orders and trying to calm the blaze in the background.

“For months, your Governor has been collecting information.” Clara spoke loudly and clearly so that everyone could hear her. This place and its people had caused more stress for Joan than she’d ever seen, and Clara had helped Joan after Jianna’s traumatic death. Joan would not be fighting all corners on her own any longer if she had anything to say about it.

“Tonight, Derek Channing was arrested.” A cheer went up amongst the inmates. The man was a known letch, and there was no sadness that he was now in handcuffs. “You can thank my wife for that.” The sound died down again. Clara wasn’t a fool. She knew that they wouldn’t think Joan was the bees knees, but damn it they would respect her at least a little.

“She’s trying to stop you killing yourselves over drugs that are so badly treated with cement mix and baby powder that you could build a wall with the stuff. You lot, you sit here and moan about how you can’t do this and that. Well surprise, ladies! Prison is not supposed to be a holiday camp. It is a consequence. All my wife is doing is trying to do her job well. Believe me, you could be in far worse prisons.”

An uneasy murmur rose amongst the inmates. How much of Joan was exaggerated by stories? What did they actually know of her, except that she was strict and now that she had a family? There were no infestations of vermin since she’d taken over, no more guards trying to cop a feel when they were escorted, or make comments, those that did were quickly shown the door. There was decent food, and decent education programs, if they wanted them.

“Are you beaten? Are you tormented here? NO. Time to grow up, ladies and see the bigger picture!”

The groups of inmates looked over to the ambulance, where Joan sat on the step in the door with two of her daughters sat on either side of her with their heads on each of her shoulders, and her youngest on her knee as she stroked her hair and offered more reassurances that she was alright. The eldest was arguing with the paramedic over wanting to take Joan to hospital. Emma was saying that it was unlikely that her mother would want to go. It was an unexpected sight of their governor. A very soft moment for a woman who was usually known as a steel robot.

“Now, Mr Jackson, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my wife’s wellbeing.” Clara nodded curtly at the man, and turned on her heel and sauntered away, flicking her ponytail as she went.

The two men watched as the woman walked over to her wife, stroked each daughter’s head, and kissed Joan on the forehead, speaking with the paramedic as her eldest stood next to her.

Will could still hear Fletch muttering and cursing next to him, so he turned, and finally lost his temper.

“You know Fletch, I don’t think working in corrections is for you anymore.”

“You what?!”

“I think its time to quit, man.”


	2. Return to Normal - Mostly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Wentworth returns to normal, Joan finds herself in an odd position with three inmates in the medical wing.

When life in Wentworth was back to normal, following the blaze, she wasn’t expecting to have to call Bea Smith into her office one week after returning to the prison. The parts of the prison that had been burnt had been repaired, and thankfully, the fire never managed to get to her office. She was thankful for that, due to the fact that she had three very important photo frames in her desk drawer that needed to be moved elsewhere.

Smiling as she picked up the three, she looked through them. The first and the largest frame, was a photo of her entire family, including her, on a holiday they’d taken two years ago. They had all crowded around Sophie’s phone, making sure that they could all be seen in the photo as her eldest had clicked the button. Clara had then printed it off and framed it, knowing that it made Joan smile every time she looked at it. It was a picture full of grinning faces, all of them slightly sunburnt, and Jen’s smile was missing her two front teeth (she’d spoken with a lisp until the new teeth had grown in. It had been adorable). She placed the frame on her desk next to her computer and looked at the medium sized frame. It was her and Clara on their wedding day, sitting close together on a sofa with a glass of champagne in their hands. Smiling widely at each other, with their respective veils in their laps, and the skirts of their wedding dresses pooled around them. It was possibly her favourite photo of their wedding day. Nobody else, just the two of them against the rest of the world. The final and smallest photo had been taken by Clara’s mother, and it was a picture of her four hellions, all in Christmas pyjamas, sitting in a line from eldest to youngest. They each held a wrapped present in their hands and were grinning at the camera, looking ready to burst into laughter. The presents had been glitter bombs, which had shocked all of them, but Joan was glad that they’d been opened in their grandparents house and not at home where the dog could have eaten some.

Smiling softly, she placed the two frames with the first, moving them this way and that until they were in the perfect position. There wasn’t too many changes made to the office she sat in, the walls were still the same dark colour, her desk still the same tidy space, but now there was a child’s drawing stuck onto the fridge in her kitchenette, and a post-it note that Sophie had snuck into her handbag that said ‘ _Show them who’s boss, Mum! Xx’._ Both could be seen from where she sat behind her desk. The painting on the furthest wall was a piece by Emma, which was a landscape of the lake where they would go camping when the girls were younger. Joan had framed it and put it on the wall with pride, Emma had serious skill in painting with acrylics. Marie had given her a shark keyring to put on her car keys that had blue glitter all over it. (Emma had helped with the glitter, and had glossed it over with resin to stop any from falling off, knowing that her mother despised the stuff.) Each day, she was reminded of her daughters no matter where she went in her work. Joan figured that after the shock introduction to her family when they’d sped onto the scene of the fire to check that she was alright, there was no point attempting to hide her family. The secret was out.

She looked down at her left hand at the platinum engagement ring and the matching wedding band that sat on her ring finger. No point trying to hide that anymore either. She remembered when Clara had popped the question, only to be shocked into laughter when Joan had turned and pulled out her own ring box from her pocket. Clara had made sure to by an engagement ring with slightly flatter diamonds in it, knowing that Joan was often pulling gloves on and off during the day. Joan had thought the exact same thing for Clara, knowing that the woman was constantly pulling latex gloves on and off during her shifts and a large gem in a ring would just cause aggravation when it tore through the latex. Joan’s ring had a diamond in the center, surrounded by smaller crystals in a circle, and then had tiny crystals down the sides of the ring. Truthfully, Clara couldn’t have chosen a better ring. Clara’s ring had been similar, except that hers was an oval shape, and surrounding the main gem, were pink diamonds. Although a police officer, and somewhat of a tomboy, Clara adored the colour pink. It was the reason that their living room was a mix of greys, dusky pinks and whites with rose gold accents. Rose gold and blush pink decorations were dotted around the house, even in her kitchen. Clara could not be trusted in the kitchen, the woman could burn water. The two had an agreement, Joan would take over the kitchen and Clara could be the handy person around the house.

She read through reports and entered any data missing on the system for a few hours, before realising the time. Vera had entered early this morning, and over a cup of coffee for each of them, had explained that Lucy Gambaro and her little gang had been found beaten within an inch of their lives in the H block shower room when the guards first made their morning rounds. It was likely that they had been there all night. Vera had turned slightly green when describing the state of the three women, who were now in the medical unit and were unlikely to return to the general population for some time.

“Gambaro came out the worst. She’s missing teeth, hair and both hands have been shattered. Not to mention she’s covered in bruises, scrapes and she’s got concussion. She looks like she’s been in a car wreck.” Joan had looked up sharply from her coffee at this, looking at her deputy. Truthfully, it was likely that Gambaro had tried to take advantage of the wrong person and had gotten her backside handed to her in response. However, she knew that the woman wasn’t a weakling, she had some strength. There was no chance that this could have been the work of one person.

“That’s not all. The two women with her have fractured cheekbones, they’re also missing teeth. One of them has had her leg broken, but the other one has got broken fingers, toes, ribs and who knows what else.” Vera sipped her coffee, relaxing into the chair, shifting so that she could put her feet up onto the seat next to her. Her jacket was currently hanging on the hook behind Joan’s office door and her shoes were on the floor. “I think they’ve had their arses kicked by a lot of women, in all honesty. The one thing I don’t know is why.”

Joan agreed with her. Everything that happened in Wentworth was usually a response to something that happened before it. So if a prisoner was given a beating, it was usually due to insult, or more rarely now, something to do with drugs.

“Bea Smith would probably know.” She said, finishing her coffee and looking at Vera. The inmates had softened somewhat to Joan now, probably due to the fact that they’d realised that she had a completely separate life from the prison. The lecture that Clara had given had probably also helped.

Vera nodded. “Are you going to come down to look at them yourself?”

Joan groaned and fell back into her chair, causing her deputy to burst into laughter. She knew exactly what Joan’s feelings on Gambaro were. A predator, particularly on newer and more vulnerable inmates, but every time they found one stash of her sexual objects that Gambaro used, there’d be at least two more hidden about the prison. She tried to protect the newer inmates as best she could, they both did, but there was only so much she could do. Prison was a half and half game. Half the work came from the administration, and the other half came from the prisoners. When they worked together seamlessly it was perfect, but if the prisoners were not willing to do something, it made her job ten times harder than it should have been. It made her angry sometimes, some of these inmates were Sophie’s age, hardly eighteen when they arrived.

“It does surprise me that they’ve not had their asses kicked before this, to be honest.” Joan pointed out, looking at one of her closest friends, who nodded and finished her coffee.

“I agree with you. I don’t know how much of it was a case of if they ignored it, it might go away or at least not affect them. But then they are never apart. That’s probably for safety reasons. There’s usually safety in numbers, after all.” Vera sighed, and leaned over to put on her shoes.

Joan rose from her chair and made her way around the desk, picking up both mugs as she walked into her kitchen area, placing both mugs in the sink. After rinsing them and leaving them to dry, she walked back out to find Vera with her jacket back on, waiting to go. Joan picked up her walkie-talkie and her keys, attaching both to her belt.

“Let’s do this. The quicker we see them, the quicker I can find out why.” She sighed, and Vera opened the door to the office and stepped out.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As they made their way down the main stairs, inmates nodded and said good morning as they walked by, which Joan returned, if slightly confused. Nearly every prisoner they passed did the same, often smiling as they did so. Joan looked at Vera in confusion but continued on their way to Medical. Pushing open the door, Joan could see that Vera was not over-exaggerating when she’d said that they looked like they’d been in a car accident.

Gambaro flinched when they walked in, quickly looking away and refusing to make eye contact with either Joan or Vera. The two others were in no fit state to speak either, although they didn’t flinch.

“We’re just waiting on ambulances to arrive and then they’ll be on the way to hospital for x-rays and checks that I can’t do here.” The nurse explained. Nodding Joan turned to Vera to question who would be going with them, to which she stated that four officers were already arranged with travel permits. One officer would go in each ambulance with the fourth following in a prison vehicle for added security. They would not be having another Bea Smith escape situation happening.

Seeing that there was nothing else was needed, the two women left, walking through the building, passing more inmates who nodded and smiled in greeting and made their way back up to Joan’s office. As they moved up the main stairs, she raised her walkie talkie to her mouth and requested the Mr Jackson bring Smith up to her office when he had a moment.

After hearing the affirmative answer, the two women entered the office and waited.

After Will’s little epiphany in the carpark following the fire, the working relationship between the Governor and her officer had improved. It could even be called a tentative friendship, as the man always asked after her daughters and wife and in return she asked about his budding relationship that had just started with an individual he’d met at a therapy group. Her second youngest daughter, Marie had become friendly with the man after finding out his fondness for aquatic life. Joan didn’t really have a choice but to become friendly with the guy. There was now a healthy level of respect between them, which could only benefit the two.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of Will with Smith. Vera rose, opened the door and allowed the two in, and walked out with a wave of her hand, stating she needed to watch the library as Linda went on her break.

“Morning,” Joan stated as Bea walked in and sat down. “I’ve got this from here, thank you Mr Jackson.” Will smiled and gently closed the door and left Joan and Bea alone.

“Morning, Governor.” Bea smiled “How are your girls?” Bea wasn’t dumb, she noticed that Joan now had photos on her desk and was wearing her wedding and engagement rings. There had been some change to the Governor, more that she was a little more relaxed than before. It was probably due to not needing to hide half of her life anymore. 

“My girls are fine, thank you. Driving me crazy and I’m sure the youngest is practically feral but they’re all alright.” Joan smiled at her, understanding that the woman in front of her was trying to keep a friendly rapport, as always. Since taking over as Top Dog, Bea had managed to keep the women in line, with only a few hiccups here and there that were out of her control. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked after her daughters, but Joan wasn’t going to rock the boat and cause friction if this is what kept her prison calm. Besides, Bea missed her daughter. Getting to laugh a little about what she was like when she was a child with Mrs Ferguson probably helped more than seeing Bridget Westfall did. Although the woman’s credentials were fantastic, her manner of speaking rubbed some women the wrong way and they didn’t want to see her. Bea was one of them.

“I remember Debbie used to literally roll around in the mud when she was about six.”

“Its like she waits to be put into a nice dress and then BAM, she’s off like a shot to roll around in the dirt. Drives us crazy. She brought home a huntsman spider in a Tupperware box the other day. How she managed to get him in there, I don’t know but it scared the Jesus out of Emma. Said she wanted to keep him and call him Patrick.” Joan rolled her eyes, remembering her youngest daughter’s latest exploits.

Bea burst into laughter, leaning forward to clap her hands over her mouth. The mental image of Jennifer Ferguson in her blonde pigtails and a pretty dress covered in mud and grass-stains, holding a box with a spider in it was too much. It was imagining Joan’s face that made her nearly cry laughing.

The two continued their tit-for-tat conversation until Joan asked her bluntly, “Why do I have Gambaro and her little crew in my medical unit looking like they’ve been hit by a lorry?”

Bea didn’t lie. She didn’t need to. Joan likely had already guessed what had happened, although she probably didn’t know the details why. Bea hated to tell her, but she needed to, considering it concerned her family.

“We put them there, ma’am.”

Joan blinked at her. “Explain, please.”

“We’d heard them muttering about your girls, especially your youngest and your oldest. I won’t tell you the details, because it was disgusting, but they wanted to try and see if they could get someone on the outside to get to them.”

Joan exhaled a large breath, before wiping a hand across her face. This was like Bahnhurst all over again.

“Don’t panic now, we’ve sorted them out before they even got a chance to do anything.” Bea looked sure. She recognised maternal panic when she saw it. God knows Debbie had caused it in her more than enough.

“Are you sure!?” her tone was blunt, and urgent. 

“Positive. We kept an eye for about two days before we got to her, she didn’t get hold of anyone, but I thought it was better to make sure that the idea didn’t go further than their heads.”

It was true. Bea had Skye keep an eye on the little crew for two days, making sure they didn’t call anyone to try and make a plan for Joan’s children. Whilst she was doing that, Bea was gathering her court, to explain her plan, which then spread to other units. Most of Wentworth’s inmates were mothers or sisters in some form or other to children on the outside, and the idea of deliberately planning to hurt children made most of them see red.

So they made a plan. Just before lockdown for the night, a large group of them had descended on the shower block, whilst a small fight was instigated in the yard to distract most of the officers. Gambaro and her crew had been beaten, with fists and objects until the message was understood that they were to leave Joan Ferguson’s children alone. If they had sense, they would ask to be placed in the protection unit. If not, the same thing would happen again. It seems the term ‘village justice’ was true in this instance. The women had had enough of Gambaro’s persistent ganging. So they did something about it.

Joan sat back, gobsmacked at Bea’s explanation.

The women had protected her children without even needing to be asked twice.

“I’ll take whatever punishment you give, Mrs Ferguson.”

Joan stared at her, mouth open.

“You saved Doreen’s little boy, that means a lot to us. You got Warner the help she needed. Then we find out you have a whole family that we didn’t know about. It was only fair to return the favour and save your girls.”

“Thank you, Bea.” Joan said softly “Really.”

“You’re not as bad as we thought you were in the beginning. Sure, you’re strict. But we know where we stand with you.”

Joan smiled at her, shaken that a prison population that had hated her not six months before, had all leapt to her children’s defence and _she didn’t even know about it!_

“Debbie would be proud of you, you know?” She said kindly, seeing Bea’s eyes light up. “You’ve done really well, half the reason this place runs as well as it does is because you help make sure it does.”

Bea smiled gratefully. 

Joan stood, moving towards the door as Bea rose from her chair. Together the two walked down into the main section of the building, Joan escorting Bea to the library. An easy silence settled between the two, Bea knowing that the Governor was still trying to wrap her head around the idea that the prisoners had leapt, quite literally in some of the women’s cases, to protect her children.

Joan’s gratitude would be felt in roughly two weeks time, when eight boxes full of new books arrived for Wentworth’s library, the books themselves chosen by the inmates.


End file.
